


Pirates on New World

by ChaosFanfic



Category: Chaos Walking - Patrick Ness
Genre: Adventure, Convertible Starship, Gen, Hammersteel Securities, Pirates, Sci-Fi, Seafarers, Space Battles, Spoilers, Starship/Seaship, The Iron Orchestra, The Wide Wide Sea, sci fi, starships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-28
Updated: 2014-09-09
Packaged: 2018-02-10 20:05:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2038326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChaosFanfic/pseuds/ChaosFanfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The wars are over, and have been for a year or two now. Todd and Viola live- together- happily in Old Prentisstown, in a large, fairly luxurious house, together with Ben and Cillian, Simone and Bradley, and anyone else who happens to be staying over. Harvest has just finished, and summer is just beginning to slip through their hands, autumn peeking nervously around the corner at the happiest couple on New World- but it's hardly as if we could just leave them in peace, now is it?</p>
<p>Humans have this truly annoying tendency to forget that life goes on outside their own little worlds- away from their own tiny planets; Old World is Old News, and New World is quiet, but that doesn't mean interesting things aren't happening in other parts of the universe, where technology is further along, and where space travel is easier than just sleeping for years on end, where pirates have left their birthwaters- the seas on those tiny little planets I mentioned- behind and have ascended to the stars... and where those who hunted them have followed them up there, and will inevitably follow them back down when the time comes.</p>
<p>It was just bad luck that when the time came, they were above New World, wasn't it?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fading Summer

**Author's Note:**

> I've had to resurrect a few people for this, I'm afraid. I couldn't leave them be, I just couldn't.
> 
> I've brought back...
> 
> \- Davy
> 
> \- Simone
> 
> \- Cillian
> 
> They still went through the events that had killed them in the original books, however. The only difference here is that they survived them, all by pure chance. Davy was not killed by that shot- he fell into a somewhat Todd-like coma, though less severe. He was awake long before Todd, and spent a long time with him as he slept, murmuring regrets etc etc.
> 
> Simone too, survived the blast. The bomb itself was designed to cause death at a short range by explosive power alone, and didn't utilise much shrapnel, so although she is scarred up one side of her body, she is not terribly disfigured, save for a collection of scars along her chest and ribs and left arm from where some shrapnel DID hit her. 
> 
> Cillian was believed dead by the attackers back in Old Prentisstown, because his pulse was invisible and he was already riddled with bullet holes in fairly meaningless locations. He slipped away from the ruins of his old home after dark, and- try as he did- was unable to catch up to Ben in any sort of time. Instead, he went back to Old Prentisstown after the army had left, and set up camp, waiting for anything to happen, driving himself half mad with worry.
> 
> Right. Enough of this. I hope you don't hate me for that. Enjoy the story.

 

Todd Hewitt was a very, very lucky boy indeed. He and 'his one in particular' as he often (though not always) referred to her as, had survived a lot. He had even survived dying, as unlikely as it may seem.

Todd's pencil- a real pencil- scratched and scrabbled untidily against the coarse paper that that new Papermill up the river in Haven had been producing. They called it artist's sketching paper, made to be slightly rougher so that pencils and inks had more purchase on it, but even Todd, who could barely read or write, save for the little residual influence of a long-gone nemesis, and the tutelage of His One in Particular, could see that it was just unrefined. The paper was a bit lumpy in places, and it was a very liberal and rather varied shade of grey, instead of bleached white.

But still.

It was somewhere for him to practice.

Todd kept scrabbling at the paper, spelling out the words phonetically in his head as much as he could, and occasionally (often) ((very often)) calling out to His One in Particular for more difficult spellings.

He was practicing writing by leaving love notes around the house that he and her and most of their friends and family lived in, specifically and only for her eyes. If and when people found a little, crudely folded envelope marked with a big letter V for Viola, the name of His One in Particular, they knew to leave it alone- unless of course, they were Viola.

Viola's heart glowed, and her voice sang when she talked, for hours on end after having received one of Todd's special practice notes. It wasn't just the way he talked about her in them, either, calling her "The lite of his live" which obviously meant he was calling her the Light of his Life, either. She could see him improving, his handwriting becoming neater, his spelling and punctuation gradually getting better and better, with each and every note.

She kept them all, too, in a nice little box, by their bedside table.

Oh yes. They sleep together now too, despite being, what, 15 or so by our reckoning? They haven't been  _that_ intimate yet, though. They sleep together so that they can spend more precious hours of the terribly short human lifespan in eachother's arms. They sleep together to share warmth, so that neither of them feel cold and alone like they both have in their lives. They sleep together to keep the nightmares away, and so that when one of them does have one, they wake up to the other's calm, comfort, and love.

It's a delightful little arrangement, made all the more heart-warming by the way they really do love eachother. It's actually pretty difficult to tell who is older, too, given the fact that they've both been raised by different calendars, and that their builds don't show off much about their ages.

Todd Hewitt is a tall, broad shouldered, muscular and very well built man, with a sort of fair, dirty blonde look to his hair- though even Viola's opinion about his hair colour changes frequently- and scars up and down his body from all the times he's fought- mostly for her. He still has a giant patchwork of scar tissue up his chest, too, from where the Spackle leader, The Sky, or as Todd knows him, 1017, shot him with an Acid Musket, having mistaken him for Mayor Pren-

 

No.

 

That man's name isn't spoken much any more. Even his son, Davy, has adopted a new surname, after his father shot him to try and break Todd. Davy survived, though he too would be scarred forever, in more than just body.

Viola is pretty skinny- though Todd calls her slender and elegant and perfect and oh goodness me, it's sweet enough to cause diabetes, it really is. Her hair falls to about her shoulders, being a rich, vibrant blonde in itself. She does wonder, though, what she would look like with darker hair, and so she's been looking around for a suitable natural dye. The new settlers brought some artificial stuff with them, of course, but it damages your hair, and Viola happens to like the way hers shines just fine, thank you.

Todd closed his eyes, smiling softly, imagining Viola with dark hair, and with her own blonde hair, and with red hair, and with any colour hair, really. She would still be Viola.

 

His Viola.

 

And he would, of course, still be her Todd.

 

Her Todd.

 

Looking back down at his latest note, Todd read it back to himself. Aloud, as always.

"Viola-" He knew how to spell her name perfectly, of course. It came naturally to him.

"- you are the most beautifull woman I hav ever sean." Ah. Yes. Well, he knows beautiful pretty well, having used it a lot already to describe her, but the number of Ls in it sometimes eludes him, unfortunately, and he's never seen the use of having an E on the end of 'Have' either. The 'sean' thing? Yeah, that's new, actually. I don't really know where he picked that up.

 

"- and I love you more than I love sunlite."

"- you are my world."

"- I love you."

 

"- sorry I stil cant rite very wel. Love, Todd." He signed off apologetically, still a tad embarrassed about his illiteracy. Illiteracy was something he was definitely a minority in, nowadays, what with all the new, educated, hyper-intelligent techy settlers like Bradley and Simone having arrived.

 

But Todd knew his value.

And immediately underneath the main body of his love-note-in-progress... there was a fantastically detailed sketch of himself and Viola, curled up on the 'settee' as he can still remember Hildy calling it, in their front room. He took the picture from Ben's noise (Ben saw them there and shed a few tears at how cute it was, don't judge him) and recreated it on paper. It was really quite simple, and came naturally to Todd Hewitt. You could see every little strand of hair and every fold in their clothing and every adorable little freckle on Viola's face;

Oh. Viola. Todd couldn't think of words to tell people about how cool and fantastic and intelligent and beautiful and talented she was, he really couldn't. She was a great artist too- though she doesn't draw stuff as often as him- and she could play the instrument she was named after (the viola, a warm sounding, slightly larger and deeper violin) with a skill and passion unlike any music Todd Hewitt had ever been blessed enough to hear. She was warm to hug and hold and kiss, and her hair was soft and glossy and he could lose himself in her eyes, never find his way back out again, and still be just as happy when he was lost there.

Suddenly, before he could stop himself, he remembered what her eyes had looked like as she bled out from Davy's gunshot, as he ran her down into Haven, though at the time they hadn't known it had become New Prentisstown.

Her eyes had been weak. Dying. Crying out for him, crying  _for_ him. She'd been pale and tiny and weak and covered in blood and crying so much, and she'd apologised- she had  _apologised_  to him, over not being strong enough to make it for him, she'd cried about not being about to take the wound, she'd cried about leaving him.

 

Oh don't deceive me, oh never leave me.

 

Todd rose sharply, leaving his pencil, and his note, unfinished, the sketch half done. He rose to go and find Viola.

And find her, he did.

Viola Eade was curled up into a ball on their sofa, sleeping softly and soundly, dreaming of stars, Todd, and the Wide Wide Sea. Maddie had been right, too; she did snore, although not quite as loudly as Maddie would have had you believe.

For Todd, her snores were a comforting noise- a reminder than she was still there, still with him.

Sighing with relief, Todd sat down quietly beside her, and laid his hand on her shoulder, for both of their comforts. The sofa was soft, although not too soft that you would sink deep into it and never emerge, and it was not really that decorated at all, to be honest. This was the sofa downstairs, in the living room of the shared house- which was only really shared because it was where everyone spent their free time, and this made it easier than them having to trek back and forth to their own houses for every little thing they needed that Todd and Viola didn’t. It also gave them all an excuse to have a bigger house, which is always a major plus.

“Todd?” Viola woke up slowly, like she always did.

“Hey.” He near-whispered. “I’m here.” That was something he told her a lot, actually. Their past ‘adventures’ had left her (both of them really) with a terrible fear, both of simply being alone, and of losing each other. Viola normally dealt with her fears better than Todd, but her nightmares were worse. She had been threatened, intimidated, and tortured in ways that Todd was not- and very likely never would be. Whenever one of them woke up screaming, or cried in their sleep, the other would always reassure them with ‘I’m here’ and ‘I’ve got you’ instead of anything else. Above all, they would never tell each other to stop crying, because they both know that 1. Their reasons are perfectly valid, and 2. Crying is actually a fantastic stress reliever.

Without even opening her eyes, Viola cuddled up to him closer, laying her head in his lap, and sighing contentedly.

The air was cool at this time of day, at this time of year. It was towards the end of summer in their part of New World, and the harvests were all done, all the sheep sheared and done with in this strange new seasonal pattern that Todd had grown up with, and Viola had had to learn to live with.

And that meant that the days were lazy now.

More free time.

More time for eachother.

“Todd.” Viola murmured lazily.

Todd smiled. “Viola.” He replied. This was a thing they did now, after Todd had defeated The Mayor using his Noise like a weapon- using her name to strengthen him- and how she’d called his name to support him, a strange call and response of names, and, of course, the Mayor’s  **Yer Nothing Yer Nothing Yer Nothing** echoing across the hills, and across Todd. Todd’s mind still smarted from it when he remembered that day, the day that he saw the pain the Mayor was going through, how he’d wanted nothing but silence (which, on this world, only meant massacre) and how he’d waded out into the Wide Wide Sea to meet his own doom at the jaws of some Big Fish.

 

**Eat.**

 

**Eat.**

 

**Eat.**

 

Todd grimaced, the picture playing itself in his noise. Viola came closer to him, holding him as he tried to stop remembering and failed.

“You didn’t do anything wrong.” She reassured him, her voice a melody, music to his ears, just like the instrument she was named after- which she also played like a master.

“I- I know, I just-“

Viola shooshed him, sitting up, and wrapping her arms around him, pulling him close, feeling his heartbeat- and him noticing hers too. They were eager to join eachother, as always, the slow, rhythmic thumping gradually synchronising, falling into itself, falling in love.

Just like them, really.

“I thought I’d helped him.” Todd’s voice shook, trembling. This too was something he thought about often. The Mayor was, in fact, irredeemable, just as Viola had told him- but he  _had_ also been getting better. Even at his very end, The Mayor still cared enough- was still good enough from Todd’s influence- to end his own life, instead of making Todd do it, which would have hurt Viola beyond comprehension, and-

“Stop it.” Viola said, suddenly, “He chose to do what he chose to do, Todd.”

She was right, of course. She was always right.

“Besides, you told me what you saw in his noise. The only way he could ever hear nothing was to die anyway.” She held his hand, her palm warm, and her grip tight.

Tight, as it always was, fearing losing him again.

 

Before Todd could say anything, though, there was music struck up from outside; a solid, strong, and easily repeated drum beat on a light wooden box, and upbeat chords from an acoustic guitar, strummed quickly, a bright melody quickly rising from it. Lee was playing something fast and happy and summer-y, and Viola liked that kind of music (all kinds of music, really, but this kind especially) a lot.

“Hey Todd, let’s go outside.” She smiled at him, not getting up- just in case he had a special reason for staying inside, of course.

Todd stared for a moment. Her eyes were bright, and lively, and her face was fuller now than it had been so long ago (little more than a few years) when she’d come close to death more than once. Her lips were parted a little, and curled upwards, her teeth crystal white and clean (perfect, in a word, but that’s really just the best way to describe her, isn’t it?) and her heart, oh her heart, so close to his, beating in a way that was not loud, nor strained or stressed, but in a way that he could hear on an entirely different level.

“Sure thing.” He said quietly, the cool afternoon breeze blowing a few strands of hair in her eyes as he spoke.

“Let me just get the note.” A grin broke upon his face, as he brushed her hair from her eyes, and stood to retrieve his love note, and his pencil.

 

Couldn’t let that go unfinished, right?

 

When they eventually got outside, into the friendly-smelling autumnal New World air, where the leaves on the trees were just beginning to turn their customarily clean, unblemished and varying shades of red, and the swamp apples on those few trees they’d planted in the garden that bore those fruits were big and black and ripe for the picking.

Lee was, indeed, strumming away happily at his guitar, brought here by the new settlers among their arts supplies, and given to him as a gift by Bradley Tench, in recognition of both his good deeds, and in realisation that Lee had been taught as a child. It was Wilf banging on the box, his strokes alternating between open palms and closed fists, his hands rough and worn with age, but still more than capable of striking up a solid beat for his friend, even as Lee saw through his noise, and began to smile broadly at the sight of Viola.

Since all those years past, he had gotten over his original feelings for her, but he still loved her as a friend- as he loved Todd, and Bradley, and Simone, and everyone else.

The wounds over his eyes were long healed, now, leaving only pock-marked scars where once bright blue shone out, a beacon of hope (and weak knees for those few he graced with a special, meaningful look back in the days) and kindness for all who saw them. 

Viola sat down close by, Bradley and Simone sitting together on the picnic table bench, hand in hand (as it turned out, Bradley's feelings WERE requited, just not as openly) lost in achother's eyes.

Todd lay down next to Viola, as Lee came out of the tune, and quickly went into something slower, and more peaceful.

 

([https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=78O6--THTF0](https://webmail.st-benedicts.suffolk.sch.uk/owa/redir.aspx?C=vT8VqDpCrkqASRlu4X8miaZL6YsHdtEIXC15N4BdQj2gxImagkP9CUFmErvhnFWFyxZbJ5bz8ms.&URL=https%3a%2f%2fwww.youtube.com%2fwatch%3fv%3d78O6--THTF0))

 

Davy entered the back garden carrying in his arms a bag of charcoal, and a smaller bag of kindling atop that. 

Yeah. Davy had turned out to be a barbecue boy. He was good at it too.

Todd looked up, and smiled at his friend. Those useless, crappy, pathetic-ass hairs on his upper lip were gone now (Davy was shaving regularly, and whenever they did come back, they were decidedly more manly) and he was slightly taller, fairly broader, and a good deal more muscular. He was nicer too. For all the things Mayor Prentiss had been wrong about, he had been right about at least one thing; Todd had a tendency to make the people around him better. Viola too- especially around Todd- but Todd for sure was a soul-healing kind of guy.

Davy smiled and waved as he set down the bags, and reached into his pocket for his lighter.

Pulling it out, and flicking up the lid on the zippo, he watched the flame for a second, before setting it down on the other side of the barbecue from the bags of fuel and kindling, and cracking his knuckles, like some badass before a fight.

Todd lay back again, closing his eyes lazily, the half-finished lovenote in one hand, and Viola's hand- slightly sweaty (as palms do tend to get around that special someone)- in his other hand.

 

But then, something felt wrong.

 

Oh yes.

 

Very wrong indeed.

 

Opening his eyes, Todd moved to look around, see what felt so wrong about the situation- but before he could tear his eyes from the sky, he saw exactly what he was looking for.

 

A small cluster of obviously man-made objects, faint against the light blue of their background, two of them much larger than the rest- and one of the two much grander still than the other- moving slowly across the sky, flashes of light and far-off explosions dotting them like some odd decoration.

 

Todd's jaw dropped as it dawned on him exactly what was happening far above them, up in the high, thick atmos of New World.

 

Todd was staring at a battle.

 

 

A Battle of the Great Black Beyond.


	2. Starfight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We meet the OCs for this fic. At least, most of them. The circumstances for our meeting them are a little tense, however, and despite the vast distance between them and Todd and Viola at first, the gap is closed rather quickly.
> 
> It is, naturally, closed with gunfire.

Sirens blared aboard The Viola, crewmen running down her corridors, preparing to fire her guns and launch squadrons of fighters from her hangar bays in a desperate bid to put off the Star-Bombers of the ship’s pursuer. Silent explosions rocked her, sending her crew off their feet at the sudden jolt and sway that could only be a salvo hitting its mark, tearing through The Viola’s hull, taking life with every impact. It would not be long now; no ship, bar for perhaps their pursuer, and the few other ships of its class that were ever constructed, could take this kind of damage so rapidly and not have to flee immediately- and flee though they might, their enemies were not far behind, and their own engines were damaged.

The Viola had gone from proud warship to space-coffin rather quickly. Or at least it would, if something was not done very soon.

“Disengage engines!” A voice called out. “Rotate 90 degrees starboard!” It commanded of The Viola’s crew, hoarse with barking orders, and deep, with a soothing, somewhat Jamaican sounding accent to it.

Soothing, but threatening.

“Starboard guns, both decks! Prepare for full salvo, using deep pen’ shot!” the man who was now obviously the captain of The Viola paced aggressively down a corridor, towards the bridge of his ship, and his command centre. “Ready in 10 seconds!” he gave his final order regarding returning fire as his ship finished its rotation, little jets of blue and green thrust exhaust on its sides slowing its tilt to a stop, keeping her balanced as her guns prepared to open fire against their enemy.

“Guns ready, Captain!” a gunnery officer shouted.

“Guns ready, Captain!” a second repeated.

“Guns ready, Captain!” a third, once more.

“Guns ready, Captain!” the fourth and final gunnery officer reported over her communicator, her voice playing into the bridge.

The Captain, Gabriel Balsey, a tall, broad and muscular black man with green eyes and proud, proud dreadlocks, stared, infuriated, out of the starboard (right hand side) windows of his bridge, right at the Capitol Ship pursuing them.

The Basilisk.

The Basilisk was a monstrous ship of truly terrifying size, for a spacecraft. It had been constructed originally to serve as a deterrent more than an actual weapon- but what point is a deterrent if its blade is not sharp? Its guns are larger, more powerful, and more threatening than most other vessels of even its own size and class, its torpedoes are propelled by a combination of railgun-like superconductor-magnet based coils, and small, cheaply made near-ftl drives that trigger as they leave their bays, making them nearly impossible to shoot down in flight, and their warheads are a couple of broad strokes more dangerous than Nuclear ones. It’s even fast enough to give chase, if power is diverted correctly, and its shields are strong enough to take more than most of the oomph out of any salvo not designed to penetrate them.

Had The Basilisk’s commander been playing to kill off The Viola, The Viola would not have made it this far. This was, naturally, a mistake.

You see, The Viola was part of a larger task force belonging to Hammersteel Securities, a company dedicated to both providing private security, and policing their presences wherever they can. The task force that The Viola belonged to particularly was called The Iron Orchestra, a small fleet designed to work together to bring down larger, more powerful vessels (such as The Basilisk) and to hunt down notorious criminals across the galaxy. Unfortunately, The Basilisk had caught The Iron Orchestra off-guard last time, and had split the fleet up, chasing them around space for a long time. Now, it was in pursuit of The Viola, having destroyed or routed who knows how many of the other Orchestral ships, and though The Viola was equipped with weapons designed to deal damage to capitol ships like The Basilisk, The Viola itself was not designed for fighting like this.

Just like in a real orchestra, The Viola was a support section of the fleet. It was equipped with extremely heavy shielding for a ship of its size, as well as repair and shield-boosting capabilities for its friends. It was still very capable of dealing punishment out, and was a force to be reckoned with even on its own, but it was _not_ designed for this in the slightest. Not even a captain like Gabriel Balsey could change that.

Gabriel stared out into the cold, empty kinetic void between him and his ship’s target. The Basilisk itself was, surprisingly, not firing at them very often. Instead, it had dispatched several small, fast corvette-class ships to harry its target.

Gabriel’s eyes, a freezing hot blue, glared at that reflective surface that could only be The Basilisk’s bridge, the place where The Basilisk Pirates’ commander and captain, would be.

 

John Weir was his name. He was of average height, and decently toned, slender as the sword he carried at his hip, and used frequently on unsuspecting travellers, merchants, and even officers of the law. His mind was a truly brilliant one, thinking both mechanically and emotionally at the same time, processing facts, thoughts, opinions and tactics. He had lost fights, of course, and he bore the scars from those mistakes, but they were mistakes he had learnt from- and that made him more dangerous than any sword or soldier. That kind of thing made a commander the most dangerous thing there was.

Captain Weir was also staring out of his bridge windows, his stance wide, and squared off with his opponents. His uniform, unlike the Iron Orchestra uniform which consisted mostly of navy blue and white armour plates, vests, and the occasional officer’s jacket, was a more formal and charmingly composed complication of crimson and black. He wore a waistcoat (black) and a shirt of deep crimson, sleeves rolled charismatically (if that is indeed a way they can be rolled) up to his elbows. His trousers were black, with burgundy accents around his pockets, and striped down the sides of his legs. They were also tighter than most trousers would be, and flexible too, for his fencing.

I hate to say it, I really do, but he looked _good._

His skin was pale, his hair was nearly black- so dark, in fact, that he’d stopped complaining when people called it black instead of brown- and his carried himself with a slightly disturbing elegance, not as if he was above all this, for he still ate with his crew, and fought alongside them whenever he could, but instead as if he were not of this world, as if he were some kind of angel…

Or a demon.

“Captain?” His first mate chimed from just behind him. She was a lovely little thing, she really was. It was even better that she could slaughter two dozen of Hammersteel Securities’ finest- by hand- and walk away unscathed. Not even the nigh-undefeatable John Weir would touch her without her consent, although that didn’t matter, because she loved him, and she gave her consent more often than not.

“Yes, Miss Ruby?” He rejoined her, his voice silky smooth, his demeanour opening up for her. Her love was not unrequited.

“Can we take prisoners?” She asked him cautiously. The ability to love another does not make one a good person in the slightest. John Weir did not necessarily enjoy hearing captured men and women scream, squeal, and beg for mercy (maybe the mercy bit) but Ruby did, and he wasn’t exactly averse to having hundreds of people in chains before them. After all, most of the greatest empires were founded on slave-labour, right?

“Why not?” He smiled gently at her, his teeth hidden behind those thin, enigmatic lips that Ruby knew so well.

She beamed at him for a moment, before turning on her heel to address the officers assembled before her on the bridge.

“Engines at full power!” She roared. “When within range, fire boarding cables, and drag them in!”

Her lips curled in a blood-curdling grin.

“We’ll be having fun tonight.”

 

Gabriel Balsey, not even looking away from his enemy’s sun-glared bridge windows, bellowed his order to fire, vibrations rocking and pitching the ship beneath his feet as ranks upon ranks of The Viola’s guns fired, and his feet felt thin tremors as armor-piercing torpedoes burst into action in their bays towards the bow of his ship.

Cannonfire and torpedoes streamed in a grand display of firepower at The Basilisk, and its beastly masters. Tactical fighters and corvettes hastened out of their way as they coursed past the three assault ships that The Basilisk had careered forwards to harry the security forces. Those guns were armed with munitions designed to deal damage to a Capitol Ship. It was expensive to make, and not to be wasted on a Corvette-Class ship… but that didn’t mean it wouldn’t still wipe one out if it hit one.

A few seconds, and then a bright chorus of explosions lit up The Basilisk. Gabriel’s stomach gave a flutter as he hoped for triumph, for victory, or at least for a chance to get away…

But luck was not with him, nor any of his crewmen.

The Basilisk, though it had now taken more damage than its commander could have ever wanted it to, pressed on, and, to The Viola’s horror, began firing boarding cables just as they reached the edge of New World’s upper atmosphere.

The cables found their mark, and latched on, beginning to pull The Viola to her doom in the jaws of The Basilisk.

“Fire retrograde thrusters! Make them come to us!” Gabriel began, searching around for something to give him strength. His eyes found his 1st Lieutenant, and his 1st Lieutenant was shaking his head.

“They want prisoners. We know what they do to prisoners, and we can’t hold the ship any longer.” The blonde man echoed sadly.

Looking down, defeat creeping inside of him, Gabriel nodded. He understood what his best man was saying.

They’d lost as soon as The Basilisk found them alone. It was now their responsibility to minimise the loss, and that meant escaping the shackles of the pirates, no matter what the cost.

“Leave the thrusters firing. Put our guns on automatic fire…” He barked orders into his communicator, his voice echoing tinnily over his ship.

“… and abandon ship.”

 

Todd stood up, slowly, disbelievingly, never letting his eyes leave the scene above him. He could make out, from where he stood, several small objects detaching themselves and jetting away from the smaller of the two larger ships.

“Todd?” Viola quizzed, as she noticed the absence of his hand in hers. She looked up at him, curious, before following his eyes, and seeing for herself something she’d been taught a little about in school aboard the Delta. Space Combat was a function of future war that the settlers had known humanity was considering already. The surface of Old World was cracked, dried up, and broken, crammed with those billions and billions of humans who had not done something about overpopulation before it was too late. In short, it was no longer viable to truly do war there without an unforgivable loss of life, from which there would be too many bodies to clear up if nothing else. Naturally, as mankind always has done, they looked to the stars.

The only real question was how did these ships get to New World so quickly after the settler ships she’d arrived on, but not been detected following them? Well, that, and why they were fighting.

Suddenly, the smaller bits of the smaller of the two larger ships turned into tiny fireballs… tiny fireballs that appeared to be growing larger all the time.

Todd looked on quizzically as they got larger and larger, leaving thick trails of black, oily smoke in their wakes, and Viola’s eyes widened.

They weren’t getting larger, they were getting _closer._

“Todd! Run!” She cried out, clambering to her feet, running for him.

“What are they?” He tilted his head curiously, reminding Viola of a silly little kitten they’d had on the Delta. Oh God. When those things hit down, she didn’t want Todd anywhere near them.

“Viola! Those aren’t weapons! They’re not firing at us!” Bradley shouted, staring up at them, standing with one foot behind the other, peering at the objects through his glasses.

Viola furrowed her brow at them, but didn’t stop pushing Todd back towards the house.

“They’re still going to hit us!” Viola replied, her voice high and panicked. She really didn’t want another war. Memories of her Asking were still clear and crisp in her mind from the last one.

“She’s right.” Simone murmured. “Bradley, get everyone inside, now!”

Viola had barely reached the door before she was knocked from her feet- her hand torn from Todd’s- by the impact of one of the many projectiles not far from them, towards the swamp. It sent dirt and stones flying, scattering them across everyone and everything that it had landed near. Viola’s ears were ringing, but she could hear a series of sharp clicks, and hissing, coming from the direction that the whatever-the-hell-it-was had landed in.

“Simone! Bradley?” She called out, before realising in panic that she had lost Todd. “Todd? Todd! Todd where are you?” She cried above the chaos. People all around her were clamouring, covering their ears and trying to get indoors, and she could hear more shouts and calls of alarm and terror from the town itself… just as a second and a third pod landed, one of them in what must have been town square, and one of them coming so close as to break down the fence to the garden, and smash through Davy’s barbecue, still unlit. Thick, tangible black smoke erupted out of it, and Viola heard that same clicking and hissing again, as large rectangular parts of the thing shot off, revealing an interior. She couldn’t see anything else, though, before her vision was clouded over with the smoke.

“Viola!” She heard him, not far from her, just to her lef- right? Left, no, it was left. He was to her left. She was sure of it.

Her hand reached out, and she stumbled in the direction she thought she’d heard his voice from. Eventually, her hand came to rest on a muscular, and obviously male chest. He was breathing very heavily, and it appeared that he was either very, very sweaty, or covered in something that had a similar consistency to-

“Todd?” She whimpered, her voice small with fear. He’d nearly lost her to blood loss once, and she didn’t want the same thing to happen again, even if it was reversed (especially, if it was reversed).

But the man she was grabbing didn’t reply. Instead, he grabbed her hand, and shoved her away from him, grunting in what must have been effort, pain, and exhaustion. Whoever that was, it hadn’t been anyone she’d known.

“Robb! Where the hell are you?” he groaned, trying to step forward, and falling face first into the dirt his escape pod had thrown up.

Ah. Of course. That would be what had fallen from the sky, then. Whatever was going on up there, it appeared to be at least coming to a close. Jettisoning escape pods generally meant abandoning ship.

The man was screaming, and the thin silhouette Viola could begin to see through the smoke- though it burnt her eyes to try- was holding his leg (which was bent and broken in more than one place, and bleeding profusely) and crying.

“Robb! Please don’t leave me!” He called out.

A wind picked up, clearing the smoke. Viola could see him properly now, albeit through tears, and running high on adrenaline. He was a tall, broad man, dressed in what could only be some kind of police or military uniform, all adorned with blue and white (police, probably, she decided) and a thin but durable looking combat vest. Well, it must have been durable at one point, at least. It was riddled with holes now, blood soaking through the thickly interwoven layers of futuristic fabric. The soldier’s leg was broken too, just as she had confirmed, although only in one place. It was bent backwards at a frankly horrific angle, and she could already tell that it would take far longer to heal than this poor man likely had left in him. The healers of Haven were very, very good at their jobs, but Haven was too far away, and too much was going on, and-

Viola screamed and kicked as she was grabbed from behind, two strong arms wrapping themselves around her and pulling her backwards towards the house.

“Todd! Todd!" She screamed for help. She’d heard stories of what happened to women in their prisons during the war between The Ask and The Answer, and she desperately didn’t want that to-

“Viola, it’s me.” The owner of the arms whispered soothingly in her ear. “I’ve got you.” Todd held her tight, pulling her away from the sobbing wreck of a man on the ground before her.

 

She shivered in his arms, and closed her eyes tightly as he pulled her away from the crying soldier- but they opened again as soon as she heard gunshots.

 


End file.
